The One He Lost
by Silencebeyondthestars
Summary: The lonely graveyard loomed out of the mist in front of him, his shallow breath releasing more white smoke into the cold air. His feet ache from the long walk he'd endured but they didn't stop until he reached the heavy iron gate which screeched sharply into the silent night as he pried it open with his free hand. (Sherlolly Halloween Oneshot)


The lonely graveyard loomed out of the mist in front of him, his shallow breath releasing more white smoke into the cold air. His feet ache from the long walk he'd endured but they didn't stop until he reached the heavy iron gate which screeched sharply into the silent night as he pried it open with his free hand.

The full moon on the sky lighted him as he continued to wander through the rows of granite stones and despite the tears flowing endlessly from his eyes and blinding him from clear vision he didn't lost his way, his heart knowing the route better than his head.

A ten more steps later he reached his destination as he slumped down onto his knees in front of the stone which had been laid there merely a month ago. His hands came to his face and he rubbed his eyes to see the gold engraved writing right in front of him.

.

_"__Molly Anne Hooper-Holmes_

_The dearly loved wife of Sherlock Holmes_

_19th of May, 1979 – 20__th__ of September 2014_

_Gone are the days we used to share, but in my heart and mind you're always here"_

_._

It had been just a regular morning when he'd last seen her breathing. She'd left for work, giving him a good bye kiss to his lips which he didn't have any recollection of, having thrown himself too deeply into his mind palace to comprehend anything that happened around him.

The next time he had heard of her had been a call from some doctor at St. Barts, telling him that there had been an accident and that his wife had lost her life instantly when the car had hit her just a few blocks away from the hospital.

The week after it Sherlock had walked in a haze, his brain completely refusing to accept the fact that the woman, who had both been his heart and soul, had been taken a way from him for good.

There was nothing he could remember from her funeral or how she'd been laid to rest to the ground which was now beneath him, but this was only because he hadn't attended to neither of them, despite how angrily John had yelled at him.

And it hadn't just John but everyone else too. They'd been far too annoying to bear with their grief and condolences so he'd left Baker Street, keeping care that he wasn't spotted by any of them so that they could drag him back to the cold and lonely flat. Instead he had toured the main continent in search of someone who could be of assistance to him in his desperate need.

It had taken him longer than needed but in the end he'd found what he'd been searching for.

As he now stared the headstone Sherlock could hear slow steps coming from behind him. They didn't belong to anyone he'd ever encountered before and they were not to his friends, nor where they his brother's. But he still knew who it was.

It came closer, the feet moving against the gravel path, but Sherlock still kept his eyes focused on the stone. The steps stopped just a few meters away from him and for awhile silence filled the air. Sherlock knew his companion had many different names and forms among the people through the centuries but he didn't care for any of them. The only thing he was interested in was if he could help him now.

A low and raspy voice interrupted his thoughts.

"So I heard from one of my associates that you have a desperate need for my services, Mr. Holmes."

"That's true."

"You are knowledgeable of my requirements, I take it? You know that I demand another soul in her place and it has to be the one who asks me to bring her back?"

"Yes. I'm prepared to give my soul to you in place of hers and pledge myself to your service for all eternity." He nodded, already contempt with his choice.

"Very well then. Bring her body in front of me."

Sherlock reached for the shovel which had been lying beside him all this while. He stood up, his back still turned to his accompany, and with a force brought the tip of the iron tool against the ground as he swooped up a piece of the grass and the dirt aside. He continued in this way again and again.

"She won't have any recollection who am I?" He panted, feeling the sweat running down his body, taking in a breath before he continued to dig through the last remaining meters.

"No. From now on you and your life together will only be in her dreams which she won't remember after she wakes up every morning. You can never let her ever see you because if you do she will remember you but she will perish the next minute."

A few minutes later, cradling her lifeless body tight against him, Sherlock kissed Molly's cold forehead as a blinding light surrounded them both and he eventually lost his consciousness.

After waking up alone in the cemetery, the headstone in front of him and the body of his wife now vanished, Sherlock began his eternal duty among the earth.

Whenever he was spared from his master's tasks, Sherlock kept a close eye on her. The years passes as Molly continued her life as if she had never died nor had never met the mysterious consulting detective who'd rushed into her morgue after she'd begun working at St. Bart's.

He saw her meeting a man, a fellow doctor, whom she kept inviting to her flat after their dates and with whom she walked hand in hand through the same streets they had run together whenever she had helped Sherlock in his cases.

And finally the day came when he witnessed her marrying that man in the same small chapel just outside of London where she had spoken her vows for Sherlock years earlier.

Sometimes, watching Molly share her life with another man and their children hurt him more than taking the trip to her grave ever had, but the regret always left him as soon as he saw her, alive and happy, as he always made sure she couldn't see him.

The day when she was to die naturally, peacefully at the age of 87 and surrounded by her children and grandchildren, was the day Sherlock could finally let her see him.

A few moments before she was set to draw her final breath he appeared to the foot of her bed, so that she was the only one who could see him, and saw how her brown eyes, now surrounded with small grooves and wrinkles but still as soft and kind as ever, take him in and the recognition flashing through her.

"Sherlock" She smiled and whispered her last ever words. "I love you."


End file.
